Tea time poetry
A photo put the flow in me
Jamal's at nostalgia again
Not again
I'm afraid it is
Strange it is
That I would feel old
This young
And let lamented remembrance
Roll off my tongue
This young
The past screams love
And today we're scared to whisper
The world could end
And we wouldn't know each other
And we'd be sat with wilted flowers
Hour after hour
As a coward
As we cower in our sour tear puddles
As a stray droplet creeps into our lips
As if we didn't know already
What we could have spoken
Now even if we did
These rains would make it bitter
Almost dead,
And pollute our poetry
With words we never said
No comments:
Post a Comment